


Endymion, Sleeping

by Antiquity



Series: Rosetta Stone [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Pillow Talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24066520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiquity/pseuds/Antiquity
Summary: Years of Tooru’s unpredictable hours have let Hajime sleep through nearly anything, so Tooru doesn’t tiptoe much around the bathroom as he brushes his teeth and pulls on pyjamas. He nudges one of Hajime’s helmets out of the way as he comes out so neither of them breaks their neck in the morning, and despite the sand in his eyes and the rush in his blood, Tooru pauses for a moment to stand by the bed and gaze at his husband, limned in silver moonlight slipping through the crack in their curtain.His heart finally begins to slow as he finally slips under the covers, skin-close to Hajime’s warm, strong back.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei
Series: Rosetta Stone [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721578
Comments: 14
Kudos: 199





	Endymion, Sleeping

**Author's Note:**

> Version 3 of That Night, which doesn't really need capitals but has them mostly because I, like Oikawa, tend toward the Dramatic, and I, like Oikawa (and Iwaizumi) adore Oikawa that boss-ass bitch to pieces :D
> 
> If you haven't read/aren't inclined to read the main piece, fear not! All you need to know is Oikawa and Kuroo are detectives investigating a crime in Tsukishima's workplace, and Tsukishima's been stabbed - but everything is fine and dandy by the end. Believe me, when I tag fluff, I mean it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

By the time Tooru finally manages to close and lock his front door behind him it’s past two in the morning, but he’s riding the jittery high of successful arrest that keeps him cresting just above exhaustion. He toes off his shoes, unplugs the little nightlight Hajime leaves on the table by the door, and drops his satchel on the couch as he passes it on his way to the bedroom.

Years of Tooru’s unpredictable hours have let Hajime sleep through nearly anything, so Tooru doesn’t tiptoe much around the bathroom as he brushes his teeth and pulls on pyjamas. He nudges one of Hajime’s helmets out of the way as he comes out so neither of them breaks their neck in the morning, and despite the sand in his eyes and the rush in his blood, Tooru pauses for a moment to stand by the bed and gaze at his husband, limned in silver moonlight slipping through the crack in their curtain.

His heart finally begins to slow as he slips under the covers, skin-close to Hajime’s warm, strong back.

“Mmmt’ru?” Hajime mumbles, surfacing slightly from sleep as Tooru presses his cold feet to Hajime’s calves and wraps an arm around him.

Maybe he shouldn’t wake him, but Tooru’s brain is still convinced it’s on duty, cylinders firing at one hundred percent and too much noise and sound and thought in his head – the last piece of evidence they needed, the message from and call to Tsukishima, freezing night air on their cheeks as they ran, Tetsurou’s face when four-eyes collapsed with a knife in his side, the weight of the law when the cuffs snapped closed at last...

“Hajime,” he whispers, nose cold on the back of Hajime’s neck.

Hajime tugs lightly at Tooru’s wrist and rolls over when he loosens his grip. “Welcome home,” he murmurs, eyes still closed but mouth accurate as always when he presses a kiss to Tooru’s forehead. “How’d it go?”

Tooru squirms further into Hajime’s arms, chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, and slides both legs between his husband’s so he can hook his shins and ankles around Hajime’s. Hajime accommodates him without difficulty, shifting the arm Tooru’s lying on a little higher so his bicep is under Tooru’s head, hand rough and calloused and perfect in his hair.

“That badly?” he asks, concern in his sleep-rough voice. Tooru could pick Hajime out of a noisy crowd in pitch blackness through his breathing alone so he can’t say he has a favourite tone – apart from the obvious ones, of course: dryly exasperated, helplessly adoring, out of his mind with pleasure – but warm and sleepy definitely ranks up there.

“We got him,” Tooru says, eyes closed in the safe hollow of Hajime’s throat but mind still churning through everything, what he could have changed, what he should have done to be faster, better, more, “but Tsukishima’s in the hospital.”

“What? Is he alright?” Hajime sounds more awake now, but to make sure Tooru presses the icy bite of his night-chilled ring to Hajime’s chest. His reward is a small inhale and fingers coming up to squeeze his, a sleep-warm ring aligning with its pair.

“I think so,” he says. “Stab wound to the lower abdomen but the ambulance got to him quickly enough.” Tooru strokes Hajime’s unblemished skin and tries not to picture a knife skewered through it.

“Ouch,” Hajime says, trying to muffle a yawn in Tooru’s hair and then spitting out the stray tufts. “How’s Kuroo doing?”

Tooru shrugs jerkily in Hajime’s embrace. He should have paid more attention to the attempts made to incriminate everyone instead of viewing them as typical colleague backstabbing, he shouldn’t have wasted so much time combing through Kyusabe’s finances, should have –

“Tooru,” Hajime says, jostling him gently. “How’s Kuroo?”

“I kicked him out of the office at midnight,” he whispers into Hajime’s throat, beautiful and whole and possibly in danger every time Tooru makes an enemy. “He went with the ambulance to the hospital but came back to help me process the suspect, and then he just couldn’t settle and was getting more and more annoyed with the defence lawyer and kept misplacing files so I kicked him out. He went back to the hospital and Keiji-kun messaged an hour ago to tell me he and Owl-chan took Tetsu-chan to their place.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Hajime mumbles drowsily, stroking through Tooru’s hair.

“But I should have worked it out sooner, I shouldn’t have let it go so far; Tsukishima nearly worked it out before we did and the murderer found him when he went back and now he’s in hospital and Tetsurou is distraught, what if –”

“Nope, no, stopping you right there,” Hajime says, crushing Tooru to his chest. “There is no use in speculating about what might have happened –”

“But Iwa-chan,” Tooru whines, “theorising is my job!”

They’ve gone through this before, no doubt will go through this again, one of the spokes to the wheel of their world, but the teeth in the cogs inside Tooru’s head tear every time they come full circle and he can’t help but watch them spin out.

“Don’t you try that with me,” Hajime says, but it loses some emphasis when his voice cracks on a yawn halfway through. “I need to be more awake for this,” he grumbles, unwrapping one arm from Tooru to reach behind himself for the glass on his bedside. He dips his fingertips in the cold water, brings them to his eyes, and scrubs at the sleep on his lids, blinking in the dimness of their bedroom.

Tooru’s heart seizes in adoration.

“You’re such a weirdo, Hajime,” he huffs instead, pressing a kiss into Hajime’s skin. “You’re the one who’s going to need glasses, not me, ‘cause you stuck ice in your eye.”

“It’s not even that cold,” Hajime tuts at him.

“ _Oh, Tooru, put another blanket on the bed today_ ,” Tooru growls in his lowest bass. “ _I feel a chill coming on_.”

“If that’s how you want to play it, idiot, you can sleep on the couch.”

“No, don’t be so cruel!” Tooru wriggles forward even further to nestle himself against Hajime’s warmth, tightening his arms around him.

“Honestly,” Hajime sighs, but he knows that Tooru knows the exasperation in his tone is all fake. “The only people who can sleep in this bed are the ones who know damn well they’re good at what they do.”

“My my, Iwa-chan, who else has been sleeping in this bed? A hot college student needing an oil change? A lonely single mother looking for someone to retune her engine? A dastardly racer wanting his clutch calibrated –?”

He gets a pinch on the side for that, right over a ticklish spot. “Argh, alright, I’m sorry!”

Hajime relents, gentling his touch and sweeping his calloused hand over Tooru’s skin, strong and confident and able to put absolutely anything back together in one piece. Sometimes when the memories of unsolved cases become too much and Tooru is left insomniac and staring at the accusing ghosts demanding vengeance in the shadows of the ceiling with Hajime’s arm over his waist the only anchor in the world, he knows that Hajime’s hands and Hajime’s heart are the only reasons he hasn’t fallen apart.

“I don’t want to hear you’re sorry,” he murmurs into Tooru’s ear, “I want to hear that you’re not.”

“But I am,” Tooru whispers back, twisting his fingers into Hajime’s hair.

“I know, baby,” Hajime says, “but hindsight is twenty-twenty vision and you did your best.”

“But I could have done more, there’s a victim in the hospital –”

“Is he going to die?”

“...No.”

“Then you did what you could. You aren’t responsible for everyone’s actions, just your own. Two detectives to a pair, remember, and a whole police force for a city.”

Tooru knows this, he does, and Hajime knows that he knows, but sometimes...Tooru breathes in the scent of Hajime’s skin, the bedrock his life and the fulcrum of his world since he was 6 years old.

“It’s hard, sometimes,” he says so quietly he trusts Hajime to feel it rather than hear it, “only being able to act when somebody is already dead.”

“I know,” Hajime says again, shifting Tooru’s legs a little so they can curl closer. “But you brought the murderer to justice and gave closure to Tsubasa and his family. Choices and consequences.”

“For every action, a reaction,” Tooru affirms, pinching the sensitive spot of Hajime’s neck just to feel him squirm: philosophy in reality, science in practice. “We got him. We arrested him, and he’ll face justice for what he chose to do.”

“Yeah,” Hajime says. “You did it. I’m proud of you, Tooru.”

“I got him.” He presses closer, face smushed into Hajime’s throat. Hajime’s collarbone is digging into Tooru’s eyebrow and soon he’s going to need a proper breath, but for now, the fire cools and his blood begins to settle as his mind quiets. “Tetsu-chan and I got him.”

“What about those two? Do you think they’ll reconcile?”

“Absolutely,” Tooru says, and lets his smile turn into a smirk. “The pining, Hajime...I felt like I was hiking through a fucking forest every time they were in the same room. And then Tetsu-chan held him in his arms and grumpy old four-eyes said his name so sweetly...if they’re not back together by the time I visit tomorrow, I’ll eat my...” Tooru has glorious hair that is the envy of the human race and so most certainly doesn’t own a hat, and he casts around for something similar to finish the analogy. “My shoe!” he says, triumphant, and Hajime shakes with laughter against him.

“And risk leaving one of your loafers without a pair? Perish the thought.”

“True...” Tooru muses. “Still, I won’t have to, because they’ll be back together. Assuming Tetsurou is even talking to me, that is.”

Hajime kisses his temple. “He will be, don’t worry. You’ll get wrinkles.”

“Mean!” gasps Tooru. “Will you still love me even if I get wrinkles?”

“Oh, tough call,” Hajime muses, drumming his fingers on Tooru’s spine and pretending to think about it. “If I find somebody else who’ll put up with engine parts all over the living room and knows every inch of me inside and out, I’ll probably trade you in when you get a grey hair.”

“That camshaft had better not be smearing oil all over my nice clean couch,” Tooru warns him. “Iwaizumi Hajime, don’t think I didn’t see that.”

“Can’t hear you, Oikawa Tooru, I’m asleep,” Hajime retorts. “Also, I’m so proud you can tell the different between a camshaft and a piston.”

“I do listen when you talk,” Tooru points out, slightly offended, and Hajime tips his chin up for the first proper kiss of the night – morning.

“I know, baby. I guess you don’t have to worry about wrinkles after all.”

Tooru snorts and twists onto his back, still in Hajime’s arms with his head just the right angle between the pillow and his favourite bicep in the universe. “Superficial, I see how it is. You’re only in it for my looks.”

“Sure as hell isn’t your personality,” Hajime remarks, and grunts when Tooru pinches a nipple. “Seriously, Tooru, don’t worry about Kuroo. You did the right thing – you know how hard the Public Safety Commission would have come down on you if there was any infraction the defence could use to leaven the sentence. Kuroo knows that as well as you do, and he was already toeing the line investigating a case with so recent an ex nearby.”

“Still...” sighs Tooru, exhaustion finally nipping at his heels as his body sinks into the warmth and safety of their bed. “I should have been nicer.”

Hajime snorts and Tooru presses his still-cool toes to Hajime’s ankles in retaliation.

He’s too tired for real guilt, but a tendril brushes up his spine all the same. It was the first time Tetsurou has had somebody he loves targeted, whether directly or indirectly related to his police work; the first time it had happened to Tooru, he had not been anywhere near as composed as Tetsurou had been. Tooru was so close to hysterics he still can’t look back at the memory without wincing, and Hajime had had to calm _him_ down instead of vice versa when the brother of a suspect Tooru had arrested came by Hajime’s auto shop with a crowbar.

He hadn’t even had to do anything: by the time he’d arrived after the call, Hajime had already disarmed the man and wrapped him up in duct tape for good measure all without breaking a sweat.

Tetsurou hadn’t even been his partner when that had happened, but he’d been with Tooru for the second attempt, the one in the dark alley that ended in a broken cheekbone and a dislocated shoulder. Tetsurou had even had to put Tooru in a headlock while uniform loaded the man into the car, hands duct taped together – Hajime doesn’t leave home without it now – and that memory…well, that one involves a lot of self-recrimination, sleeping on Hanamaki’s couch, and Tetsurou dragging him back a few days later to talk to his blazingly-furious, ever-steadfast husband.

“I owe Tetsu-chan, after all.”

“Buy him coffee for the rest of the week and invite him and Tsukishima around for dinner sometime,” Hajime yawns. “Now, do we have anything more to cover, or can we sleep?”

“What, no congratulatory sex?” Tooru teases, his own eyes already refusing to open.

Hajime groans and Tooru laughs, flicking him.

“Rude,” he says, and kisses him again for good measure, nipping at Hajime’s bottom lip before lazily soothing the sting with a quick lap of his tongue. “What would I do without you?”

“Get lost in a hardware store and have to use your own hair to make a thread to navigate the maze,” Hajime responds immediately, burrowing into his own pillow and jostling Tooru more comfortably in his arms.

“That was oddly specific, Iwa-chan,” Tooru mumbles.

“Shut up and go to sleep, Shittykawa.”

“Mean.”

“Jerk.”

“And people think ’m the brat.”

“Duh, y’are.”

“Ouch.”

“Just go t’sleep, baby, please?”

“Since y’asked so nicely,” Tooru sighs, not sure on the edge of slumber if they were even words. “Love you, H’jime.”

But those words, those he knows by heart.

“Love you too,” Hajime whispers, lips to his temple and hand over his heart. “Now sssssshhh.”

With the feel of Hajime’s breath brushing his skin and the sound of Hajime’s heartbeat all around him, Tooru does.


End file.
